“Pies are made by people.” – Sweeney Todd

A week ago, we here at Pie Day Friday asked you an important question: who are you? More specifically, we asked who are we? We, the consumers of end-of-week pies, were sadly lacking in terms of self-identity, and we were sick of not knowing what to call each other.

Without further ado, here are the results of this once-in-a-lifetime survey:

This isn’t our first pie-based rodeo, and once again you rose to the occasion, eschewing our lame options and devising your own beautiful and unusual responses. Once again, there were those amongst you who picked OTHER.

That’s right, of the seventeen responses, a full twelve went the extra mile. 70% of you had responses beyond the average, beyond the mundane.

Some call you the Pieological Philosophers. We call you the Others.

We asked, “Who are you?”

They answered, “other.“

The Pionic Lodge

The Cult of Piesonality

PlatiPIE

Pie Masters

Pie Ministers

Members of PIEliament

The Pieoneers

The People’s Republic of Pastry

And, finally, our personal favourite:

Pierates

(getit? like pirates? I think this is the best idea because, like real pirates, we are bound by no rules or conventions; we are companions from many backgrounds, united by a love of treasure and booty (aka pie))

In tragic scenes that directly contributed to our controversial move from piedayfriday.weebly.com to piedayfriday.net, some inventive responses were tarnished by weebly’s refusal to picture emojis. It’s 2017, weebly. Come on.

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little Cornish pasty? Iâ€™ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Notty Seals, and Iâ€™ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Cornish Pasties, and I have over 300 confirmed eats. I am trained in gorilla warfare and Iâ€™m the top pie devourer in the entire Pie Day Friday Forces. You are nothing to me but just another meal. I will wipe you the fuck out with an appetite the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of sPIES across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, croissant. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. Youâ€™re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can eat you in over seven hundred ways, and thatâ€™s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Notty, and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the plate, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little â€œcleverâ€ comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldnâ€™t, you didnâ€™t, and now youâ€™re paying the price, you goddamn pasty. I will shit gravy all over you and you will drown in it. Youâ€™re fucking dead, kiddo.